


if he were here (but he isn't)

by that_one_binch



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, but its actually 4+1 bc i liked it like that, hope you like it beeby!, no beta we die like men, rated teen for some cursing nothing too bad, some bg f!addar/bull but its like super minor (bc im trash for them), written for a friends b-day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_binch/pseuds/that_one_binch
Summary: Four times Quinn wakes up alone and one time she doesn't.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	if he were here (but he isn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeezbees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeezbees/gifts).



> happy birthday bee! i hope you like it! sorry if i got anything about ur girl wrong bby

The first night Quinn wakes up it’s to the unfamiliar and unremarkable thatched roof of a small inn at the base of the Frostback Mountains, one that she’s pretty sure is only there to house idiots and the people looking to join the inquisition. It’s a cheap place, the blankets are made of rough starchy wool and the bed feels like it’s been stuffed with rocks and sticks over hay or feathers, but she can’t complain.

Okay well, maybe she can a little bit. Just to herself.

By her best guess, it’s probably around two or three in the morning, the land outside her rather tiny window still bathed in the silver glow of the stars and moon imparting an almost eerie feeling across the lan- and she can see a Druffalo shitting about forty feet from her window.

She turns back to face the ceiling. _Last time I try to be philosophical about anything._

Now would be when she would roll over to face Fenris and watch the rise and fall of his chest, tattoos glowing faintly in the dark, counting out a steady rhythm to his breathing. Maybe she’d imagine a world where they could live normal lives with a kid or two and a few dogs on a farm or something. She would count out all the lines and dots that covered his body, memorize the lines of his face, trace the slope of his jaw, and the length of his ears.

But Fenris isn’t here. 

She’d left him behind near the Storm Coast when she’d gotten Varric's letter slipping out at night, Fenris has become a surprisingly heavy sleeper since they had left Kirkwall, leaving behind only a note that told him she would be back as soon as possible and that a friend needed her. 

He didn’t need to know that that friend happened to be Varric and that Varric wanted her to help his new Qunari friend deal with an evil they had unleashed and thought dead. Bitch was a bit more sturdy than they had first thought it seemed.

So instead Quinn counts the beams supporting the roof and thought about how much she wishes she could have taken her soft blankets and downy mattress from Kirkwall before they’d left it behind.

—

The second time Quinn wakes up she’s in a mountain.

Well, more specifically, she’s in a Skyhold in Varric’s room since he apparently never actually used it and had offered it to her when she’d arrived. At first she’d been hesitant but the beds here really were incredibly soft so it hadn’t taken much persuading for her to accept.

She didn’t have any windows this time but the chill of the air was more than enough to convince her it was definitely still night and that she should most definitely be asleep.

Letting out a small sigh she rolls over to stare at the wall, not that she can actually see it at the moment, and listens to the bleak quiet of the night outside the room. There’s the hushed whistle of wind and distantly the light clanking of armor and weapons as the night guards patrol the fortress walls.

If Fenris was here he would be awake too. He would count out the bricks of the wall for her and could help her discern exactly how many guards are out on the walls tonight and he would talk to her until she could fall asleep again. He would tell her a bad joke and she’d laugh and tell an even worse one back. He would kiss the top of her head as she drifted off to let her know that someone would be there for her in the morning.

But he’s not here.

So instead Quinn thought about the inquisition and it’s unlucky leader, a Qunari woman younger than her by a handful of years she guessed, though the inquisitor seemed to have things at least a _bit_ under control, even if Addar did seem to be enamored with a literal Qun spy which Quinn found to be _really_ stupid.

But who was she to judge? One of her friends had blown up the blighted fucking city they lived in.

She wondered how Fenris would feel about the eclectic bunch the inquisitor has wrapped around her little finger? It sounded like a bad joke really.

_A Qunari spy, a dwarf, and a magister walk into a bar…_

She imagined that he’d find a way to make it funny even if only to himself.

Quinn let out a long breath and curled up into a ball, slowly closing her eyes and forcing her breathing to even out. She’d need her beauty sleep if she wanted to be of any help to anyone in the morning.

—

The third time Quinn wakes up she’s gazing at the sides of a tent with a bone-deep weariness echoing through her body. She can hear Stroud sharpening a blade outside, he’s evidently having an even harder time sleeping than her, and just to her left can hear the rustle of the inquisitor’s cot as she twists in the night.

She wonders what [inquisitor] dreams of at night. Her lover? Her family? _Does she even know her parents?_ Her friends?

Maybe she dreams of nothing like the dwarves.

Quinn wishes her good ones regardless.

Anything is better than her nightmares of releasing evil come to life. But, hey! Who else can say that they’re the catalyst for the end of the world? She can already see it now, “The Woman Who Released Corypheus,” her new title and the hatred that comes along with it.

She hates the ever-present anxiety she carries with her now.

If he was here she’d put her ear on his chest and listen to the calming thump of his heart and the rose and fall off his chest. She’d trace nonsense patterns along his stomach and he’d twitch in his sleep and sling an arm around her waist to pull her closer. She’d smile, nuzzle against him, and press a soft kiss to the skin directly over his heart and let the steady comfort his presence gives her rock her back to sleep, her own personal lullaby.

But he’s maker knows where doing maker knows what. 

Could be dead for all she knows.

She feels a tear prick the corner of her eye and smears it down her face as she flips onto her stomach. Tiredly she pulls the thin blanket further up her back as she listens to the monotonous ring of stone against sword coming from Stroud. She quickly finds the rhythm of it and spends the next however long counting it until she can fall into a fitful sleep again.

—

The fourth time she wakes up she’s still dealing with the shock of the fade and leaving Stroud behind to fight a fade demon for however long he can live against it. 

He quickly becomes just another name and face to add to the list of people she’s failed.

The ones she couldn’t save.

They’re back in Skyhold now but she’s not in Varric’s room this time. No, this time the inquisitor herself offered up her room to Quinn. Not that the offer was really much of one, [Addar] had all but ordered her to take her room citing that Quinn needed the sleep more than her and that it was the quietest one in the fortress. 

Quinn would argue that [Addar] only said that because she didn’t want to be questioned when she went into the Herald’s Rest and didn’t come back out.

Quinn can’t complain though. The bed really _is_ extremely comfortable. Despite that, she still wakes up to stare at nothing.

Well, not nothing she supposes, it’s a four-poster with a canopy so she’s technically looking at the roof to the bed, but definitely not anything interesting. Sitting up she lets out a huff as she throws her legs over the side of the bed, a hiss escaping her as her bare feet meet freezing floor. 

Glancing around she takes stock of the room and finding nothing of interest wanders over to the large balcony that overlooks Skyhold.

The view makes Quinn feel tiny. Everything is massive around her with even the things that look small from her vantage point carrying a sense of gargantuanism. 

The vastness of the clear night sky, the slopes and peaks of the mountain range bathed in snow, the groupings of army tents further down below Skyhold, and the distant howling that sounds of both wind and wolves grant the world around her create a sense of scale that she’s never seen before.

It’s almost like it was plucked straight from ancient history. From a time before dragons flew over the lands. Before the elves even.

That’s ridiculous of course, but that's what it feels like.

Were Fenris here he would come up from behind, wrap his arms around her waist, and rest his head next to hers on her shoulder. He would ask what she was thinking and she would tell a bad joke to avoid the question, _his chest would purr against her back as he chuckled_ , but he would weasel the truth out of her eventually. He would spin her around to face him, lean her against the railing of the balcony, and hold her face as his thumbs caressed her cheeks in a motion that she always found calming. He would lean towards her and press kisses to her forehead, under both eyes, the tip of her nose, and a delicately sweet brush against her lips. She would smile at him the adoration only he can bring out and he would tug her back to bed so she could sleep once more.

But he’s not here, is he?

No, he’s not. 

So she wipes the smile from her face and whispers a wish to anything that’ll listen that he’s still alive as she pushes herself from the railing to turn back to the bed.

She comes to an abrupt stop when she sees movement in the distance. Crossing Skyholds bridge is what looks to be a lone traveler moving quickly across the stone. She squints and cocks her head to the side as she registers the figure. 

_Are they glowing?_ She thinks, bewildered.

All thoughts of Fenris are wiped from her mind as she darts across the room to grab her staff and books it down the tower stairs before the person can get into Skyholds walls.

Might as well make use of her insomnia.

—

The fifth night Quinn wakes it’s a patterned cover of a pillow she’s smushed her face into during sleep. Groggily she lifts her head to glance out of the window to her right and lets out a dull groan as her head flops back into the pillow.

It’s still pitch black outside and Andraste’s tits she’d like to be able to go more than a week without waking up in the middle of the night.

If Fenris was here she would wake him up and he would grunt at her in annoyance but begrudgingly peel his eyelids open in the end. She would smile at him and he would let another emotion soften the annoyance in his beautiful green eyes. She would reach up, cup his cheek, pull his face to hers, and press a long and slow kiss to his lips. He would smile against her lips, cage her to his chest, and break the kiss to ask what exactly was wrong and she would tell him she couldn’t sleep. He would grunt and tuck her against his chest, his head above hers and would talk about everything and nothing until her breathing evened out and sleep welcomed her back into her sweet embrace.

“Of course he would actually need to be here for that,” Quinn grumbles to herself.

She rolls to the left determined to will sleep back over herself, surprised to find her nose smashed into a warm wall. She takes a long tired blink and looks up to see Fenris looking down at her with a quirked eyebrow, “Who would need to be here, Hawke?”

“ _Fenris?_ ” Quinn can hear her voice crack on the end of his name, happiness coating her tone.

“Yes, Quinn?”

“I love you.”

“And I, you.” He slips an arm around her and pulls her closer to himself, “Now sleep, we have a long journey in the morning.”

And she slips into a deep and warm rest as she listens to the dull thump of his heart and the quiet singing of her own.


End file.
